


Lakehouse

by pringlesmcgee (kenmarcadeblues)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Memories, Gen, Ghost Harry, Louis Tomlinson-centric, Paranormal, Reminiscing, Songfic, Supernatural Elements, larry stylinson - Freeform, the Larry will be subtle and brief though so don't get too excited, there's still a lot that i don't even know about where this story will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmarcadeblues/pseuds/pringlesmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>❝oh, I miss the comfort of this house❞<br/>- lakehouse by of monsters and men</p><p>Louis grows older and Harry is tethered. A  cottage by a lake is the place in which they cross paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue: I just needed closure

Quimby Lake.

A cozy cabin.

The lush forest.

Why would Louis forget? _How_ could he even forget?

Oh, those were the days that never seemed to end, and sometimes he wishes they hadn't. It sounds cliché, but things were simpler in those times.

Louis only went 3 times during his childhood, 3 summers (2 in a row and one not); and yet his mind never really left. He couldn't stay away. For today he has returned, after all the years of growing up he's done.

It was on a whim. But a good one, Louis hopes.

It's a briskly cool December now, and he's just drove for two straight hours to get here. The snow blankets the whole place in white, and it's quite a sight to Louis' eyes. He's never seen it like this, it never even occured to him that it could look like this. Gone is the smooth cellophane waters of the summer, as the lake's waves are now nipping angrily at the frigid winter air.

No wonder this is the proclaimed off-season. No one's crazy enough to swim, fish, or go in close proximity of that choppy and freezing body of water (which is usually the main attraction) for any reason.

Luckily, this means that he's able to rent it for a shorter time and at a lower price than usual. His starving, college-kid wallet is thankful for this.

 _Why am I here, again?_ Louis asks himself rather stupidly, because he very well knows the answer.

Louis has to know whether _he_ was - is - real, whether all the counseling his parents put him through was for a legitimate reason.

The 22 year old boy shivers.

The wind feels like him.

_Harry._

 


	2. Part 1: I just made a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three accounts of a young Louis staying at the lakehouse through the years; 1997, 1998, and 2003.

**/July 1997\**

Jay and Mark Tomlinson had wanted to try something new. It was 6 year old Louis' very first official summer holiday off from school, and they figured it was a good a time as any.

So the three Tomlinsons rented a lakeside cottage.

There were a lot of normal-ish lake house happenings and activities. Swimming, fishing, kayaking, galavanting through the surrounding forest, playing with the kids from nearby lakehouses (or whose families had come to visit just for a day), sitting back and breathing in the sunshine, roasting s'mores and other food stuffs on a fire. The list goes on in great detail.

And then there were some abnormal things, too. Unsuprisingly enough, those are the kind Louis' memory has held onto so tightly, and has no intention of letting go of.

It was one particular afternoon, where Louis had sat on the floor in his room, making a crayon drawing of a very pretty fox he'd chased through the trees earlier that day. He'd finished with his masterpiece and lifted his head.

Upon looking up, he saw a person standing there, watching him silently.

Louis blinked slowly, and then made an effort to direct a small smile at his quiet admirer. "Hi! Who're you?"

The person was a tall young man, and much older than him...like, maybe his cousin Sam's age or something. So, a teenager, really.

The boy blinked back, and gasped out the million dollar question: "You - you can see me?"

"'Course, silly! Don't need glasses," Louis had responded. "Well, maybe. You look weird. Like a window," said the little boy with a frown, squinting his eyes.

"Like - like a _window_?" echoed the older lad. "What's that mean?"

"See-through," Louis stated.

" _Oh_...no - you can probably see fine. This is how I look because, well..." He paused. Louis looked at him expectantly, willing him to go on. "I'm, um, dead."

"Dead?" The smile slid straight off the 6 year old's face. "A...g-ghost?" hiccuped Louis.

The ghost nodded slowly. "Yeah, but -" He was interrupted by a whimper from Louis, who'd heard enough stories and watched enough Scooby-Doo to know that ghosts were bad news.

"Go away! I don't like you here!"

"Hey, listen, I'm not-"

"Nonono! _My_ room! Go away!" Louis demanded as he hugged his knees tightly to his chest.

The ghost moved closer. Louis curled further into himself and trembled, feeling tears build up behind his eyes.

There was a hand on Louis' petite shoulder, except it wasn't like any hand he'd ever known before.

"Ahhhhhh! Too cold!" Louis screeched. "Cold, cold, cold!"

The ghost retracted his hand quickly. "Oh! I'm sorry, sorry, shhh..." He hadn't remembered how cold he truly must be, because he didn't have anyone to compare to. He often reminisced about the sensation of warmth.

Louis' glassy blue eyes peered at the deceased teenager. There was a strong wariness in his gaze, but a certain curiousity now, too. Shouldn't he say 'boo' or something along those lines? What kind of a ghost says 'sorry'? Since when do ghosts have manners, anyway? And was he actually...hushing Louis just now, as well? What? _No_. That's definitely not scary!

"Are you _really_ a ghost?" asked the tiny boy, still cowering slightly.

"Yup."

"Oh." Louis hesitated before the next thought rolled out of his mouth. "Well, you're not a very good one."

"Is that so?" the ghoul chuckled. "How's that, huh?"

"Haven't said 'boo' or anything. That's why!"

"Scared you without all that, though; didn't I?" He smiled playfully, but Louis didn't like it. "Alright, alright, listen. I'm not evil. Don't wanna hurt you, okay? 'm a nice ghost."

Louis turned the information over in his head. The boy in gray doesn't seem half bad, if the chubby-cheeked boy is honest, but he's still a _spirit_ , after all. He can't be trusted completely. Not yet. "Promise?"

"Promise. Let's just be pals. Okay?"

Louis wore a look of uncertainty as he held his littlest finger out for the dead boy.

"Pinky promise," Louis whispered as gravely as a 6 year old could mange.

"Um, okay," the ghost mumbled, taking Louis' pinky in his own transparent one. Louis hissed and shivered; it was like holding an ice cube. An ice cube that wasn't really _solid_. "I promise," he said, conviction evident in his tone.

The young boy scowled at him; a face full of disapproval.

"What? Not good enough?"

Louis shook his head.

"Awfully particular, aren't you?"

Louis kept scowling, his faith in this supernatural being decidedly dwindling.

The ghost sighed. "Fine, then." He took a deep breath, purely for effect. "I, Harry Edward Styles, sincerely promise to be nice and never hurt...whatever your name is -"

"Name's Louis," Louis supplied, by the look on his features obviously pleased with Harry's efforts.

"- and never hurt you, Lou-eh," Harry punctuated the boy's name with a wink, "ever, ever." He then stared at the child with eyes that were devoid of all color except the inkiest black. "Cool?" Louis had smiled lopsidedly and nodded, separating his freezing pinky from Harry's.

~~~~

Louis very quickly warmed up to the raggedy teen poltergeist with the see-through curls, and soon the pair were parading around that house together as if they owned it.

Some things Louis learned regarding Harry:

1\. Don't ask him how he died, he doesn't want to talk about it.

2\. He can't step outside the walls of the lakehouse, for "weird ghost reasons", of which he refuses to elaborate on.

3\. He never gets warm, only less cold.

4\. He won't let you touch him for too long. Again, for "weird ghost reasons". Not that you'd want to; he feels like the Arctic.

5\. He's way too good at hide and seek.

6.  He doesn't age, and doesn't remember how old he is.

7\. No living person had ever truly, actually seen him as a ghost. Until this here tiny 6 year old with the _special_ blue eyes came along.

Louis didn't necessarily mind that Harry couldn't go swim or climb trees with him. He and Harry could do other things, indoor things. No, Louis didn't mind having to spend more time in the lakeside cabin that smelled like musty sunshine and looked like an embodiment of his dream home. Not at all. Although truthfully, Harry was slightly bothered by the fact.

By the end of that holiday at the lake, Mark and Jay Tomlinson believed that their child had acquired an imaginary friend, which they thought was perfectly alright. After all, it was a normal thing for kids to do, as they'd read in many books.

And yes, their son had indeed told them over and over again that Harry was not an imaginary friend by any means, no; he was a ghost. He was _dead_. He couldn't leave the house.

Mark and Jay had definitely thought it was strange of his young mind to craft such a thing. But they didn't believe a word he'd said, for sure.

Maybe they should've cut down on the spooky stories? Well.

They let Louis have his fun and imagine what he wanted.

They didn't hear of Harry for months and months afterwards, and naturally they figured he'd been forgotten.

 

**____________________________**

 

**/ June 1998 \**

Louis was a spry 7 year old, eager to return to what he'd decided during his time away was his most favorite place ever.

And, yes, Harry. Much to his parents' dismay.

"I see a lot of kids your age out there today. Are you sure you don't want to go swimming?" Jay had asked Louis on one heated afternoon. She was hoping to coax him outside, as she was growing discouraged about how much time he was spending cooped up inside, all alone.

"No thanks, Mommy! Harry can't go swimming, 'member?"

"I know, but...you don't want to make more friends?" She watched her son peer over at what she assumed was Harry; and it was indeed him, although to the woman it was as if Louis were conversing with empty air. It definitely unsettled Jay each time it happened, which could be several times a day.

"C'mon, she's right. I think you should get some sun," Harry said, and then he pointed to the window just behind them, "because it's a rather beautiful day today." And there truly wasn't a cloud in that bright cobalt sky, only the sun beaming down across the land.

Louis did want to go outside - eventually. It's just that Harry captivated him like nothing else, and vice-versa, because Harry couldn't bring himself to care about anything except for: one, that he was haunting the house that he'd died in (although he didn't want to); and two, someone - Louis - could take his mind off of that fact. Harry did want Louis to have a great time, though, even if it meant leaving him.

Louis pouted. "But, but you - "

"Don't worry 'bout me, I'll be fine."

"But I wanna be with you."

Harry smiled at the puppy-eyed stare he received from the 7 year old. "I'll be waiting when you get back. It's not like I'm going anywhere," he assured Louis with a self-depreciating chuckle.

The boy thought for a moment and then sighed. "Okay." He turned and walked to the doorway where his mom was standing, looking back over his small, bony shoulder at Harry and waving a goodbye.

By the time the sun went down, Louis had gotten a friend he'd made a few hours earlier to have a sleepover with him.

~~~~

"And _this_ is my room!" Louis had stated proudly, gesturing around at the four walls that he slept within.

His friend surveyed the area and smiled politely at his enthusiasm. "Cool," she offered.

It wasn't as large or as heavily furnished as his parents' room, but it was his and no one else's.  Of course, tonight Louis would share it with Isa, because he thought she was cool.

Isa would've actually slept there if things turned out differently.

Louis couldn't refrain from talking to Harry, even when Harry told him that it wasn't polite and that Louis should focus on his guest.

It was fine at first, because Isa thought that it was a game Louis had made up, or (much like Louis' own parents) that Harry was simply a figment of Louis' imagination.

Just because Louis had begged him to, Harry ended up - against his better judgment - holding up a shirt of Louis' to prove he was real. And Isa had screamed like she was dying (Harry reckoned, anyway).

Isa went home. Louis' parents had yelled. Louis cried.

And Harry had tried to get the little boy to smile - which he eventually did, just because of how fond he was of the ghoul that had gotten him in trouble; the boy that only he could see.

  

**_____________________________**

 

**/June 2003\**

Louis didn't think much of Harry anymore. It'd been 5 long years, and the belief that Harry _wasn't_ something he imagined diminished almost completely - in part because his parents told him over and over that Harry wasn't and would never be real.

Harry had been sitting on the floor in the living room of the house in which he'd died, his gray-ish, glassy legs folded as he was meditating, like he so often did. It soothed his restless his soul and made him forget about the loneliness and gruel of existence, if only for a few minutes.

When the front door came creaking open, and the pitter-patter of small feet came towards him, he quickly flew up in the air, settling and floating just beneath the ceiling.

It was a tiny, little girl that ran around as he watched from above; the living people bringing all their luggage and things into the house for their stay. The mother looked familiar, the father didn't, but then he took notice of a sulking figure behind them: their older son.

"Louis?" Harry had called out experimentally with an awkward half-smile. With a snap, the boy's gaze landed on the bloodless teenager, his eyes going wide so that Harry saw the blue of their irises even from where he was positioned.

Louis blinked once. And then again. And then once more. Then his fingers rubbed circles onto his eyelids, seeing the randomness of dark, muted colors and swirls that resulted from it.

"Lou...it-it's Harry..."

Louis glanced at Harry but quickly looked elsewhere. He carefully trudged up the stairs with his arms full of his belongings and kicked open the door to the room he knew he'd reside in for the time being. Once inside, he threw everything onto the ground and collapsed into the bed.

The twelve year old sneezed at the dust. "What's wrong with me?" Louis mumbled against the thin blanket. Why was he seeing his old imaginary friend again?

"You alright? What's wrong?" Harry asked with a frown, sitting on the edge of the bed beside the living child. Louis curled up and brought his hands to his ears, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He didn't want to see or hear Harry. He couldn't - shouldn't - be real.

Harry extended his arm and brushed Louis' shoulder. Louis yelped loudly, glaring at Harry with a confusing expression. "Why'd you do that?" His thin eyebrows were furrowed.

"I...don't know. I'm sorry. I wish I weren't so cold..." Harry trailed off dejectedly.

A minute passed without words.

Louis sighed. "You're real, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Little Lou."

"Don't call me that," Louis said coldly. After a beat, he added, "I'd hug you if you didn't feel like the Arctic."

Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Nice to see you, too."

~~~~

The tall, broad trees filtered the sunlight, and each time Louis would go looking for firewood or for berries, he marveled at nature's beauty. His legs got cut up because he always wore shorts, but it didn't matter. The shimmering freshwater of the lake never failed to make Louis feel refreshed and forget about the scars he might've had as a result of his adventures. His step-father taught him how to kayak, and he could feel his arm muscles growing. Louis' skin became warm and sun-kissed, as well.

Quimby Lake was good to Louis. Harry was good to Louis, too.

The pre-teen boy did in fact interact with the teenage poltergeist, although considerably less than past years. He made sure to only acknowledge Harry  when they were alone. Harry was just happy to be acknowledged at all, quite frankly.

Well, the average human could sort of acknowledge him, they could 'see' and feel Harry if he interacted with objects or came into contact with the person, but it's not like anyone would know to treat him like a person and start up a conversation. Anyone else but Louis, that is.

The two laughed, joked, and played cards behind closed doors.

Harry advised Louis that girls aren't much different than boys, that first kisses don't have to be a big deal, and that twelve was, in fact, a bit young to date.

Louis described to Harry what being outside and alive felt like each day.

Harry was open to some questions and speculations about him being a ghost, but he still didn't want to talk about how he died. And it was impossible for Louis to ignore that every few days, a pained look would awash Harry's face and he'd apologize quietly, saying that he had to go to 'another realm'. Then the dead boy would vanish slowly and then all at once, and he refused to delve into what any of that meant. Poor Louis ended up with a thicket more of unanswered questions sprouting in his head, and Harry ignored the need to chop it down.

~~~~

"Who's that you're talking to, love?"

Louis had literally jumped. "N-no one, Mum." He hadn't heard her coming in, and she had just heard him say to Harry that the sun looked like a full, yellowy egg yolk in the sky today.

"So you're talking to yourself, then?"

"Well...yeah."

Jay had forced a chuckle, ruffling her son's chestnut hair. "Silly boy, you are."

"Love you too, Mum," Louis retorted back, smiling gratefully for the fact that she was laughing it off. His mother walked away with a suspicion in her mind, but without another word.

Jay hit a point when she could no longer keep her thoughts to herself. She had heard her son talking to himself one too many times and she didn't want to think what she was thinking because it was sort of ridiculous - or maybe it wasn't.

The very next time she caught Louis talking to an empty room, Jay questioned Louis. "No, really, Louis. You're really talking to someone, aren't you?" she pushed after he'd claimed he was talking to himself again.

"No, I'm not," her son replied, furrowing his brow.

"So it's not," Jay's blue eyes flitted around the room, " _Harry_ that you're talking to?"

Louis' face had completely changed when he heard Harry's name. Now he fought to pretend like he hadn't recognized it. "Um..." he began to mumble, at a loss for words.

"She won't stop bothering you, I can tell," Harry told the twelve year old. He came close to Jay, gesturing to her face, "Don't you see the twinkle in her eyes? That's determination. Just admit it, Lou." He crossed his translucent, silvery arms, his feet floating at Louis' waist level. Louis shook his head profusely.

Jay shivered at a sudden chill that seemed to manifest out of nowhere. Harry's being was taking the heat from her immediate surroundings. The ghost boy zoomed over to sit atop Louis' dresser, looking like a blob of Vaseline streaming through the air. "Baby, please. It's okay, just say something," she pleaded, wrapping Louis in a hug.

"Dude, tell her," urged Harry. He crossed his arms in wait; colorless irises staring at the living boy expectantly as his ghostly feet bobbed to and fro over the dresser's edge.

"Mum," Louis finally spoke again, hesitantly mumbling against his mother's chest, "...you're right, it is Harry. He's right _there_." Jay watched him point to the space just above the dresser in the room. It looked perfectly normal to her. Just air.

"He's your friend, right?"

"Yeah. I like him. He remembers us from when we were here before," said Louis with a fond smile.

"What does he say to you?"

"Lots. We just talk...it's like how me and you are talking right now, it's normal. He's not _evil_ ," Louis said with a roll of his eyes. "Ghosts aren't all evil. He's cool."

"How old is he?"

"I dunno. Old," stated Louis with a shoulder shrug.

" _Old_?" Jay repeated. She was evidently creeped out.

"Thanks for making me sound like a proper creep, Lou," muttered Harry.

"Wait, how?" asked Louis.

"Ah - never mind. Anyways...I think I'm like 19 or 20. Yeah, sounds about right."

Louis relayed the information to Jay.

Jay went silent for a while, stringing her thoughts into sentences in her head. She sat down on the twin sized mattress and pondered. Louis was uncharacteristically quiet, gaze focused on the teeny tiny cracks, dents and nooks that made up the pattern of the wooden floor beneath his sock-clad toes. Certain boards were creaky and certain weren't so, and that was kind of interesting.

"I say this with a lot of love, bub; but I thought you would've outgrown your imaginary friend stage by now."

Harry moaned sadly. "Oh, not this again."

Louis groaned, heaving his shoulders. "Ugh, no! Don't you remember, Mum, I told you, Harry's a -"

"Ghost. Yeah, I know," Jay finished her son's sentence with a sigh, "I know. But ghosts aren't real, you know that." Her nimble fingers twisted a piece of golden brown hair behind her ear.

"He's real. Honestly, he is. Harry can prove it himself." Louis' face became smug.

Harry shook his head and threw his hands up. "Nu-uh. Not doin' it."

"Please?" begged the younger boy. "Just touch her or -"

"No," interjected Harry.

"Why not?"

"'Cause I shouldn't touch people, remember?"

"And why's that?" Louis countered.

Harry hesitated before answering, "Weird ghost reasons." He saw the thirteen year old go to open his mouth again, so he quickly added, "'m leaving it at that, Lou, sorry."

Louis murmured in frustration. "Well, Mum, Harry's being an _arse_ but -"

Jay gasped, surprised at her son's language. "Louis William Tomlinson! Do _not_ swear!"

"Harry's _fucking_ real, okay? I'm not making it up and I'm not crazy. You have to believe me!" Louis yelled, his pre-pubescent voice cracking. His eyes were pleading but his mother stared back at him with an unforgiving glare. "Please," he tried again, softly.

Jay shook her head, almost in pity. A few seconds passed in silence before she declared, "You're grounded."

"Fine," shrugged Louis. Seeing Harry was good enough for him.

Jay quickly detected the error of her punishment. "Actually, you know what? You are the _opposite_ of grounded." When Louis' face fell, she knew she'd said the right thing this time.

Sadly, being 'un-grounded' was the least awful thing Louis was subjected to by his mother.

Louis didn't know that his parents would take him to counseling almost as soon as they arrived back home from the lake.

He didn't know that he could be so misunderstood, and be made to feel like such a freak. He changed; he stopped talking as much and as loud. He became shy, shrewd - not that that was a bad thing, but it's not at all who he had been before.

Louis' parents thought they were helping their son, they truly did. It's not really their fault that they didn't possess the ability that Louis did; instead, they worried whether it could've been a disability.

In his heart, Louis knew his mind was healthy.

But as time pushed relentlessly forward, he began to doubt himself.


	3. i just never knew

**/ December 2012 \**

" _Harry?_ " the young man calls out hesitantly. The stale air shuffles around uncomfortably. He can nearly see it, there's just something off about the way the room looks that he can't quite explain. Something isn't natural about it.

It is only Louis in the house, but it isn't empty. He feels it, at least, he thinks he does.

Again, "Harry?"

"It's Louis Tomlinson. Do you remember me?" he inquires at the nothingness, blue eyes scanning each and every corner of the living-room as he speaks. There's an awful lot of dust in here, down in all the tiny little spaces in the wood and up, floating in the beams of light from the ceiling lamp. "Because I remember you."

Apparently, while the current owner of this property seemed nice enough, the woman had not cleaned up as much as she'd said. He was a tad irked at her now. "My family used to come here on holidays when I was younger...?" Still, nothing.

Louis is losing hope by the second.

Could it be that the psychiatrist had been right? Is there truly nobody in this house?

Louis feels disheartened at the moment, but he knows he'll still have a pleasant (albeit lonely) stay here.

He carries his duffel bag up the stairs and into the big master suite, the one his parents had stayed in all those years ago. It looks just like he'd expected it to from his many memories, which lightens up his mood. And finally, it's _his_. The soul of his younger self throws up a fist of victory.

Louis sits on the king sized bed, and it creaks a bit. Not that everything else in the house hadn't been creaking too and all, because it had indeed. The very second he had entered the lakehouse, the floor beneath Louis' feet had whispered out, _'come on in, come on in'_. It's as if the house wants him, and he wants the house back. A mutual thing, for sure.

The day has seemed long and arduous for the lad, despite the fact that all he did was drive about two hours to get here. Louis is thinking surely that decades had been crossed when he'd walked through the doorway, and all that sleep he'd missed along the way is coming down at once, an avalanche of tiredness upon him.

With his head on the pillows, he curls up in the thick comforter and drifts away with heavy eyelids.

And then, air shivers. A sound. A... _gasp?_

It hadn't come from the sleeping Louis.

Louis tenses his muscles up and jumps into consciousness, the bed groaning loudly awake as well.

A wisp, just a little sliver of a form; plasmatic something or other hangs above his head, watching his every movement.

Tentative and slow, Louis reaches out a hand to greet it. It slips away from his touch, a smooth and practiced movement. The spot where it had been is noticeably cooler in temperature.

Blinking slowly, weaning his eyes off the dark of his eyelids, in a daze, Louis knows. It must be, it has to be. "Harry?"

The thing quivers, and he thinks that it could be reacting to his speech. So he exclaims, again and again, "Harry!"

Louis' pupils dilate as the plasma grows, sprouting a head, then arms, then legs.

A human form, in a see-through grayish color.

A tall, muscular adolescent with curls pooling 'round his neck, wide-set buttoned nose, slopey curving lips, flattish brows and eyes like inky marbles. Here he is, in all his glory.

"H-Harry," Louis breathes.

The ghost wears an annoyed expression. "I'm here, I'm here! What the hell do you - wait...how'd you know my name? Should I - do I know you?" Harry asks, tone softer towards the end, fluttering down onto the bed in front of the flesh and blood known as Louis and folding his filmy legs beneath him.

Louis just stares Harry in the face, not able to form words.

"Ah!" the ghoul cries out suddenly. "Lou - Louis? Is that really you?" Louis' lips turn up in a smile, and he nods in response. "Wow. I'm sorry, I don't know how I didn't figure that one out sooner." Harry gets nose to nose with the living lad, blue eyes going wider than wide. " _Little Lou_."

Under usual circumstances, Louis would've cringed at the nickname. Not only had his family pinned it upon him, but kids at school used to use it to torment him from time to time.

But in this instance, a smile found a pathway to his face. When it left Harry's mouth, it was immediately endearing and reminiscent of the pair's good times together. "Hazza," he finally drawls with a small but sweet smile.

"Yeah, that'd be me," Harry chuckles. He leans in and grabs Louis' face in his big hands. "God, just look at you; so damn big! Can't hardly believe-"

Louis starts to hiss in pain. Oh, curse those damn ice fingers of his!

"Oops! Sorry, sorry!" Harry let go of him, shivers coursing through his ectoplasm. Louis was very warm.

"How soon we forget," Louis comments, rubbing his cheeks that are now turning a light red.

Harry looks Louis up and down, lingering on the scruff that's grown on his slender face and the toned muscles in his tan arms. "Hm...how old are you now?"

"21. Birthday's coming up, though, in December."

"Like a proper man, basically...jeez," scoffs Harry, but it's in a rather fond-sounding way. "I think you may be older than me, even. "

"Still don't remember your age, eh?"

A quick glimmer of sadness passes through Harry. "No," he sighs, eyes downcast on the floral-patterned sheets, "but I still get the feeling it was closer to 19 or 20, probably. So, not too far off."

A pause.

"I missed you," says Harry.

"Missed you, too. And this house," Louis admits. "In a perfect world, I'd buy this place."

"You told me that when you were 6 years old. Man, you really haven't changed much, have you?"

Louis looks down at his hands, subconsciously balled into fists and grabbing the comforter. His fingers release. "I've been told I have - that I used to be more outspoken." Harry nods, not knowing what to say to that. "I...I thought maybe I was crazy, Harry. For seeing you."

"Didn't you, like...know better? Didn't you _remember?_ Why -"

"I _did_ know better. I did remember," Louis huffs. "But they - my parents - made me go to a psychiatrist. It was fucking ridiculous, the whole thing. And it's been almost 10 years; do you realize? A whole decade. I started to question my memories, my mentality, myself."

It was frankly humiliating that the young man's parents had paid for him to see a woman who would speak to him as if he were two years old, asking him seemingly endless questions and rarely answering when he happened to have many of his own; who tried to convince him that she knew him better than he knew himself just because she's a "professional" or whatever; who managed to make Louis feel out of place in his own being. A hot lump formed in Louis' throat as his mind harked back to hours and hours spent in an overly-conditioned room with a lonely window and, admittedly, a myriad of comfy pillow-cushions. "You - you just don't understand."

"You're right, I don't. I can't." Harry's lips curve down into a frown. "I'm so sorry, Lou. I really wish I could hug you right now," he sighs, looking wistfully at Louis, "but...well." He shakes his head dismissively, translucent curls shimmying about. "That'd only make things worse," he adds, quieter, almost talking to himself.

Louis clears his throat and adopts a different demeanor all together. "Why? What's the worst that could happen? I get pneumonia?"

"Ha, ha. No, nothing like _that_..." Harry says, scratching the back of his neck.

The blue eyed, curiosity-ridden lad scoots closer to the ghost. "Then, what?" he asks.

"Uh. Well - I mean, it's gonna sound kinda weird..." Harry tells him, avoiding eye contact with Louis.

"Just say it." The lad's nose is getting chilled by the coldness coming off of Harry's form. It's even turning a bit pink. Harry shakes his head slowly.

"Haz, it's fine. Hazza." For a split second, Louis forgets what Harry is. "Look at me, bub," he tries frustratedly as one hand goes to pat the ghost on the shoulder.

Just like that, human fingers are dancing in plasma. Louis' hand is engulfed in Harry's shoulder, and it detects nothing but cold, cold, and more cold. Harry utters a purring sort of noise and shivers wildly. "Ah, Louis -"

"Fuck!" Louis cries out, pulling his hand away, eyes wide and face contorted as he inspects the freezing body part. "Oh my god. God. Fuck!"

"Louis, are you okay? I - I'm sorry."

The boy grumbles while rubbing his hand, which is tingling like hell now. It didn't used to effect him nearly as much when he was younger. Maybe it's the room's cold temperature that exasperates the reaction, Louis doesn't know.

"No, no...it's not your fault - I was stupid. I forgot." Louis sighs then. "Why - why is it like that? Why are you so cold in the first place?" He asks, gesturing at Harry. "You never did say, as I recall."

"Honestly - I'm not sure. No one tells you science and reason behind ghosts, you know? Not God, not anyone. You have to figure stuff out for yourself. I only know what I know," Harry says, nearing a whisper, gaze falling out the blurred window and onto the pretty, frozen scene outside, where everything is showered in white. It feels like me out there, he thinks. Not that he can truly know, but he can guess.

"Well, what you _do_ know - do you mind if I know it, too?" Louis questions, tone soft.

With that, Harry shrugs. "No. I guess I don't mind."

Louis splays out on the mattress, folding his arms behind his head. His eyes close for a moment as his mouth tells Harry: "Whenever you're ready, you can just start talking. I wanna know all that I can."

"Alright. Okay," Harry replies with a smile. "But I wanna know something, first. Why do you care so much?"

"I dunno. I care about you. I like knowing about the people I care about. Don't you?"

And maybe Harry's abysmal eyes had shone for just a moment; or maybe it was the sunlight glinting off the snow outside.

~~~~

The sky is grey, but it's a pleasant grey. Louis checks his phone again; it's 9:15 am.

Louis awoke without an alarm. He had stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly, noticing how dark it still was outside; it must've been early. His first thought was that he'd missed the comfort of this house. His second thought was that he hadn't gotten up this early - without the intervention of technology - in a long time.

With a long overcoat, a beanie stretched over his ears, hiking boots, and gloves, Louis had left the cabin a few minutes ago. He couldn't find Harry, which was curious, but he'd yelled at nothing just in case: "Haz, I'm going for a walk. Don't hate me, I'll be back soon-ish!" He hesitated for a response, but got none. He didn't fret over it.

Freshly fallen snow crunches beneath his toes as he advances. Everything seems sedated slightly, as if time is strolling along as leisurely as Louis is. He remembers how rushed and wild it had been in the summer; a warm ache of what was.

The lad doesn't have a destination in mind. His boots are moving without too much thought, brain power instead being devoted towards gazing at twinkly icicles hanging off the ever-greenery and processing information that had been revealed to him only yesterday.

Some (more) things Louis learned regarding Harry:

1\. He can possess people and animals simply by touching them, and the urge to do so is involuntary and a pain to control. (He also claims that being possessed seems like it hurts, and he wouldn't want to subject Louis to that.)

2\. He can't step out outside the walls of the lakehouse because if he tries to, it feels as though his being is getting ripped into shreds.

3\. He honestly doesn't know why he's so cold.

4\. Going through walls and other objects took some getting used to because he can literally feel the object in him. (He's gotten desensitized to it, luckily.)

5\. The lakehouse caught fire, and that's how he died. Some of his friends also died in the fire, but evidently, they're not here as ghosts.

6\. When he's going into "another realm", he is going to a time and place which is the exact replica of the day he died. He gets a feeling similar to when he tries to leave the lakehouse, and he just goes. He has no choice. And the worst part is that he has to relive that day; all the fun of it, the nostalgia, the fear, the pain, the horror. (Sometimes he'll try to save himself, but it never works.)

He reaches into his roomy coat pockets to retrieve a sketch pad and a piece of charcoal; in no time, Louis focuses in on the trees, the feeling of them in his vision, and recreates their form, in shades of black and gray, within the paper boundaries he holds. When he's done, his fingers flip back to the page he'd used yesterday, like a reflex. And Louis can't suppress the warmth in his chest, the stupidly fond smile he's wearing just because he peeked at his own artwork.

It was a depiction of Harry, as true to life as Louis could manage, and the young man had to admit he felt very satisfied with it. The ghost had insisted upon posing for it, and Louis was happy for the change of pace; although it was fun catching up and being updated on Harry, playing poker, cooking dinner, messing around, and bantering in the lively way that Harry's personality seems to insist upon whenever Louis is with him, simmering down was something he knew how to do now that he was older - but then again, he had always liked to draw.

"C'mon, Lou, I can do whatever you want." Harry took hold of his foot and pulled it up to his shoulder dizzyingly fast, the long, smooth muscles of his thigh barely strained but nonetheless emphasized. "It's not like my muscles are gonna _fatigue_ , yeah?" Louis had nodded quickly, and Harry chuckled at his slack jaw.

"Stay. Stay like that," gulped Louis.

After a few minutes, Harry mused aloud, "I'd make a good dancer, huh?"

Louis nodded again. "You're beautiful."

Out of nowhere, a spot of gold appears in the pale landscape which Louis is staring blankly out at, and when his eyes focus in on it, he's immediately in awe. A fox; a golden one, nearly luminous.

Louis is hit with a wave of deja vu. _Of course he remembers._ Would it be possible to forget such a stunning creature?

It's not the same fox from back then. It isn't the one Louis had seen, had been drawing, on the day he'd met Harry. Foxes don't live that long. Even so, the animal has Louis captivated.

_Shouldn't the fox be hibernating?_

And then, right before Louis' eyes, the fox starts to morph upright and tall, losing its tail, its fur, its piercing eyes. Now there's rosy cheeks, softer blue eyes and a quiff of blonde hair like that of which he's never seen - on a human.

Louis loses his breath from staring so intently at the man in front of him; his lungs seem utterly confused until an Irish-tinged voice demands him to, " _Breathe_ , lad."

The voice belongs to the man - the former fox - and Louis inhales and exhales as told, albeit slowly and almost carefully. The man smiles, a weird laugh escaping his lips. "My apologies. I should've warned you beforehand, Louis."

" _L-Louis?_ " Louis repeats his own name in shock. "Erm...d-do I know you?" He's about ready to turn and run back the way he came, all the way back to the lakehouse.

"No, not really. But you've seen me 'round. Your eyes betray you - you remember me."

Louis' tears his so-called betraying eyes away from the man and takes an apprehensive step back. If this man isn't just a fox (which is already strange enough), but _the_ fox - what could this mean? _What's happening right now?_

The fox-man takes a step forward. "Well, I mean no harm. I'm a spirit of the forest who can go freely between two forms. I know you drew me 15 years ago - in fact, I know quite a lot of things."

Louis stands with his mouth agape, even given how cold it is. A forest spirit. This is not what he had signed up for. He'd come here for a ghost, and that's all the supernatural stuff that he'd expected to see. Maybe God's giving him a two-for-one deal or something.

"And right now," the spirit continues, "I know that you and I are due for a little chat."

"Little chat? About what?"

"Let's walk, boy."

~~~~

"It's come to my attention that you care for  this Harry," says the forest spirit - whose name, Louis has learned, is as Irish as his accent: Niall.

"I do," Louis concedes. Niall had just explained that he, too, knows of and about the teenage ghost that haunts the lakehouse.

"Deeply and genuinely?" Louis nods a yes in reply. "Perhaps you even love him, in a way."

"I mean...I _guess?_ " It's true that Harry is dear to Louis, but love is a strong word, is it not? "What're you getting at, Niall?"

"I'll tell you when we get up top of this hill."

The incline seemed to appear suddenly beneath the Englishman's worn-out shoes, but indeed, there's a hilltop calling out in front of him. The pair trek a few more meters through the snow, Louis becoming increasingly aware of his scuffed leather and beaten-down rubber soles, and there they are, peering down and around from their raised spot on the Earth. In the corner of Louis' vision lies the now fist-sized lake house, and beyond that, the expansive lake twinkles a muted blue with winter loneliness and neglect.

In the face of growing silence, Niall speaks once again. "If you love Harry, you can set him free."

"Free? How do you mean, exactly?" Louis questions. That seems to be the wrong answer, because when he glances over at the forest spirit, the face he's met with is one of disapproval - or, perhaps, disappointment.

"Harry isn't still on Earth by his own choosing. He's stuck here. He's not at peace, and will never be, until he can be released into the Afterlife. I thought you'd know that," says Niall.

Louis nods, blue eyes wide - he actually didn't know there was an Afterlife, but Niall doesn't have to know that. " _Afterlife._ Right. Sorry. It's kinda easy to forget, is all. He's so good at putting on a good face and acting like it doesn't bother him."

"He only does that for you," insists the blonde. "As much as he adores you, bless him." Niall shoots the human a fond smile and then crosses his arms. "Now, about freeing him-"

"I'll do _anything!_ " Louis blurts suddenly, surprising even himself. "Well - anything, within reason." He watches as Niall nods slowly, mulling over how he should communicate what he knows to Louis.

And so, after Louis repeats some sort of spell, in a language he can't comprehend, Niall tells him that he needs to run down this hill. Now.

Louis is about to question why the hell he'd do such a thing, but before his lips can part, Niall's already answering, "If you don't make it down there before I do, then you don't get a chance to save Harry."

"Seriously?" Louis asks incredulously. Niall nods. "That's...that's stupid and unnecessary. No offense."

Niall shrugs. "Agreed. But there's always some kind of task that they give to make sure you're physically capable. Don't want to mess with the balance of the universe for just anyone, ya know?"

"They? Who's _they?_ "

Niall starts to run.

"Oi! Bastard!" Louis shouts after the man, the muscle in his legs stirring to action.

He runs; all he sees is the blonde blur in front of him. He's catching up. Coldness whips at his cheeks, but it doesn't matter. The desperation in his chest propels him forward.

Louis needs to beat Niall. No matter how stupid, unnecessary, and cryptic everything that Niall says to him is. He'll do it.

_For Harry._

~~~~

Air moves in and out of Louis in bursts. His hands are on his knees, and he's using dizzied vision to glance up at Niall, who seems to mock him with the way his chest is eerily still. They're a few feet to the side of the cottage.

Louis walks painfully slowly, breath still so loud, and his presence is encouraged with happy creaks from the porch stairs as he mounts them. When he feels a slight breeze over his arm, he's surprised to see Niall uncomfortably close behind him. "Um," he says, lips just barely parting.

"Incoming," says Niall, flicking his eyes towards the door. Out of fear and unknowing, Louis' once drooping body straightens up as if pulled by a string, and a hot wave of adrenaline soaks his muscles. He is ready, so his body tells him, for absolutely anything that the universe might throw at him this very moment.

But thank god it's just Harry. "Lou - Louis! You alright? You look..." The ghost looks away from Louis, in lieu of saying something possibly offensive.

"Sweaty? Horrible? Yeah, 'm aware. Just now was the first time I've ran in months. I feel dead." Harry rolls his lifeless eyes and Louis quickly corrects himself. " _Exhausted._ I feel exhausted."

"Hey, um...I don't believe we've met?" The focus shifts toward Niall, who just stares at Harry with an unwavering gaze.

"Name's Niall. I'm a forest spirit from around here."

"You're shitting me." Seeing as though all Harry knows is the lakehouse, and his own experiences as a ghost, he never ventured to guess what other kinds of phenomena might be out there sharing the world with him. It's wonderful, though, to have concrete evidence that Harry isn't alone out here.

Niall shakes his head. "Wow. _Okay._ Nice to meet you, Niall," says Harry. He glances away and twists his mouth slightly, the way he does when he wants to know something. Louis understands.

"He - he's here to help," Louis clarifies. He lets Harry in about how there's a possibility, apparently, that he can get un-stuck from this plane of existence and go to the Afterlife. Louis just has to get involved. Heavily.

Niall nods. "A living soul that lives, at least partly, for a dead soul like yourself" - here Louis drops his gaze way too quickly, because leave it to Niall to make it sound so goddamn romantic, Jesus Christ - "is the key to the process. You're quite lucky to have him."

"Yeah?" Harry looks down, contemplating, the smallest, softest smile tugging at his lips. "I think so, too." Louis glances briefly at him and instantly regrets it; the lurch in the mortal's chest and the warmth in his cheeks is not right. It's just not. He feels sweat starting to form as he tries to gulp the sensations away.

When the ghost looks up again, his eyes without irises are practically glimmering. There's a small tremor in Harry's hands now. " _What do we have to do?_ " He breathes the words out carefully, as if a secret that can be stolen.

"So, you take Louis with you next time you're reliving the day of the fire." Harry knows he shouldn't be shocked that Niall knows about things that Louis had to be told about, but still, he is.

"How?"

"Connect your beings together."  Both Harry and Louis' eyes threaten to bulge out from their heads, and Niall has to suppress a laugh. "Just be touching when you feel yourself being summoned."

"Oh...'kay. Got it." Harry can imagine that Louis isn't too thrilled by the idea, but to his delight, the expression on Louis' face is one of resolve. God, Harry is so undeserving of this man.

"Then, Louis, you must...chase the fire away." Louis nods, pressing his lips together to emit an 'mmm' sound.

Then the human stares at Niall. And Niall stares back. Louis gestures with his hand in a circular motion. Niall still doesn't respond. " _Go on_ , man," Louis says, clipped.

Niall gives an apologetic shrug. "That's all I can say."

" _What?_ " asks Harry.

" _What?_ " Louis echoes louder, the annoyance in his tone comparatively more pronounced. "What do you mean? That doesn't tell us anything!"

Niall sighs. He had expected this kind of response, of course; it's a normal and rational one. But there isn't a thing he can do to satiate it, and admittedly, that makes him ache somewhere in his chest, almost as if he'd had a heavy, bloody, and complicated organ there like Louis does. "Listen, I know it doesn't seem like it now, but it does. You'll figure it out, I know you will." He turns away and starts to walk quickly away from Harry and Louis, who aren't sure if they're comprehending what they're hearing. At least, they _wish_ they weren't hearing what they're hearing.

"You can't be serious, man! What the fuck! Wait, please!" Louis jumps forward and goes after him for a few steps. His fleshy fingers go to pull the blonde back harshly by the shoulder but are met with air as the forest spirit's physical being feathers out into wisps and fades from view, effectively escaping Louis' grasp. Louis pulls his hand back, partly in surprise but partly in wonderment at the phenomenon. He almost forgets to be mad. Almost.

" _I'm sorry. Good luck_ ," the wind whispers around Louis' ears, except he knows it's Niall, it has to be. Utterly disturbed by the fact, the lad rubs his ears harshly against his shoulders.

"Fuck off," spits Louis.

But there's only snow.


End file.
